


You'll always be my thunder

by PoemAboutCitylights



Category: Sports RPF, Tennis RPF
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Sascha is afraid of storms, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemAboutCitylights/pseuds/PoemAboutCitylights
Summary: Rafa has a soft spot for a young German.Roger isn't a fan of it.But when Sascha comes to their room one night, seeking for comfort, he develops parental feelings for him as well.***Comfort Fic





	You'll always be my thunder

Roger needed sleep.  
Sleep, sleep, sleep.   
He hadn’t gotten much of it lately, firstly because he hadn’t seen Rafa in a while and found it hard to fall asleep without the Spaniard clinging to his body, giving off way to much body heat (not that Roger would ever admit that, though) and then, when he was finally reunited with the Majorcan-… well. Stuff happened.   
So now that he was visiting his boyfriend at the French Open, quietly supporting him, he could finally find some rest again, after the excitement of seeing each other for the first time in a while had worn off, fading into a blissful happiness of having the other around.   
  
But this night, Roger was not able to fall asleep, despite having Rafa in his arms, the Spaniard hugging him tightly while his even breath was tingling Roger’s neck.   
He tried to cuddle a little closer to the younger man, wrapping an arm around his muscular shoulder and placing a soft kiss on Rafa’s forehead, but as hard as he tried, he simply couldn’t find any rest.   
The weather was to blame.  
Lightning and thunder were dancing across the sky and their dark hotel room was once and again lit up by the force of it, while rain was splattering against the French windows, drumming an unsteady rhythm against the glass which kept the Swiss wide awake.   
  
It wasn’t that he had a general problem with thunderstorms, like Rafa for example, who was luckily sleeping tightly, even snoring a little.   
No, it was just so _loud_ that Roger couldn’t relax and had to keep changing his position, hoping that it would improve his situation. Eventually, he buried his head beneath his pillow and it indeed muffled the sound, but the Swiss and sleep simply didn’t match that night.   
He let out a groan when the room was flashing brightly, rumbling thunder following just seconds later.   
He tightened his hug on Rafa and held him close, hoping that the Spaniard with his fear of storms wouldn’t wake up.   
And the Spaniard was indeed flinching in his arms when thunder was barking out again, causing Roger to place his lips on Rafa’s forehead again while gently stroking the small of his back, whispering comforting words against his partner’s skin.   
The Majorcan kept twitching, trembling each time lightning flashed the room, while still being asleep and eventually, Roger dared to let out a relieved sigh when Rafa seemed to relax once again, the tension in his shoulders easing away.   
  
But just when Roger closed his eyes, keeping up the stroking of Rafa’s back, there was a knock on their hotel door that made him jump, waking the Spaniard in the process.   
God damnit.   
  
Illuminated by the lightning, Roger could see Rafa blinking up at him, bringing up a hand to rub his eyes and stifle a yawn, confusion written all over his face.   
“Qué?” Rafa asked, holding himself up on his elbows, while entangling from Roger’s embrace.   
“I don’t know,” the Swiss whispered and leaned in to brush a lock back behind the other man’s ear, “you should go back to sleep.”   
“Someone knocked, no?”  
Roger growled, still pissed that someone apparently had the decency to disturb them at that hour of the night and had woken the younger one up.   
Even more so, when another flash lit up the room and made Rafa flinch, instinctively cuddling closer to Roger.   
  
“You should open the door, Rogelio,” Rafa whispered when there was another knock, a little louder this time.   
Roger really didn’t feel like doing so, but the Majorcan was looking up at him with that puppy look in his eyes and when would he ever be able to say no to Rafa?  
“Maybe they’ll just go away…?” he tried one more time but Rafael raised an eyebrow, causing Roger to slip out of their bed with a groan.   
  
What the fuck did that person think? Didn’t they have any manners? It was around 02.00 in the morning, after all!   
With creeping steps, Roger crossed the suite and opened the door in a rush, ready to scold whoever it was properly.   
However, when the door had opened up, his mouth parted and he stared at the man in front of him in surprise.   
  
“Zverev?”   
  
The young player looked down on him with wide eyes, his blond hair messy and gaze wild, flinching each time that another lightning set off. When thunder followed, the German let out a pained noise, gasping breathlessly.   
“I-I can’t sleep,” the number 3 of the world whispered and jumped once again when the suite was lit up.   
“You can’t sleep.” Roger repeated somewhat dumbstruck, “and?”   
Alexander’s gaze went past him, looking into the room.   
“R-Rafa told me that he’s scared of thunderstorms as well,” he stuttered and Roger’s confusion grew, along with his annoyance.   
“So?” he tapped his fingers against the doorframe, hoping the German would get the hint.   
“Rafa said I… I could come over… when it happens again…” the younger one eventually managed to say, gaze dropped to the floor.   
Roger wondered whether he had ever seen the kid that flustered and unsure of himself.   
But only then Sascha’s words doomed on him.   
“He said… you… Rafa?!”   
He turned around to face the bed, hidden away in the shadows, knowing well enough that the Spaniard had been listening, though.   
“He’s scared, Rogelio!”   
Roger closed his eyes for a second, not quite believing that this was actually his life.   
“Come in,” he groaned and Zverev shot him a thankful look, despite not really daring to look him in the eye.   
He was well aware that Rafa had a soft spot for the young German and was constantly watching out for him, caring for him whenever he could, but Roger just wanted to _sleep_.   
  
It was endearing, really, to see how the Majorcan would make sure Sascha was okay, comforting him after lost matches, especially if it was Rafa himself that had beaten the German.   
But right now?! In the middle of the night? Come on.   
  
It wouldn’t be the first night that Zverev would be staying over but the last time had been different, for Rafa had let him sleep on their couch, snuggled up in woollen blankets, after Sascha had lost at a Grand Slam once again.   
  
Roger had to blink a few times when Rafa switched on a lamp on his nightstand that dipped the room in a warm golden colour. Alexander kept standing in the middle of the room, looking more lost than ever, as if his body was a few sizes too tall for him right then.   
  
“Can I…” Sascha started and then swallowed hard, eying Rafa and not Roger, jaw clenched.   
“Cierto, come here.”   
Roger watched with wide eyes how Rafa lifted his blanket and smiled at the young German with warm eyes, a paternal glint in his gaze.   
Hesitating, Sascha glanced at Roger but eventually stepped forward, crawling under Rafa’s sheets where he curled up against the Spaniard.   
With amazement and not that annoyed anymore, Roger witnessed how the Majorcan wrapped an arm around the German’s slim waist while brushing some sweaty strands of blond hair out of his face.   
Another flash illuminated the room and the young man whimpered, flinching in Rafa’s arms, his face pale as chalk.   
“Shh…” Rafa made, whispering some soothing words in Spanish that the Swiss didn’t catch.   
But the Majorcan himself jumped when thunder growled once more and Roger’s protectiveness drove him back into their bed, lying down on his side of it that was half taken up by the tall German.   
  
He reached for Rafa’s hand that was lying on Sascha’s back and intertwined their fingers.   
The Spaniard’s hand curled around his and held on to it tightly, while Alexander was still shivering between them.   
Roger slipped under the blanket and edged closer to the German until he was spooning him from behind, hoping that his body heat would make him calm down a little, for the sight of the broken young player made something in his chest knot up.  
  
He would definitely have to talk to Rafa about just deciding to play stepdad for a kid and making Roger get all emotionally tangled up in it.   
Said kid made a scared noise in the back of his throat once again and Roger placed a gentle kiss against his damp hair without thinking much about it, like he always did when he was trying to comfort Rafa.   
  
“Remember you’re safe here,” he whispered against Sascha’s hair and held on to his boyfriend’s hand, stroking the back of it gently.   
“Fucking storms,” the young player said through gritted teeth and Rafa chuckled softly, a sound that made the knot in Roger’s chest ease away.   
“Will be fine, no?” Rafa said but didn’t sound too convinced by his own words.   
“It _is_ all fine, Rafa,” the Swiss assured him, feeling Sascha’s warm body against his, “you’re safe here, there’s nothing that could hurt you.”   
The German leaned back against Roger and the Swiss let go of Rafa’s hand, wrapping his arm around Alexander’s toned waist.   
He caught Rafa’s gaze, who smiled at him brightly with something in his eyes that Roger couldn’t quite interpret, but it made his stomach feel funny and the Spaniard bit down on his bottom lip to stop a grin from spreading.   
  
When Rafa switched off the light, Roger felt Sascha’s chest rising and falling calmly under his fingers and the Swiss smiled contently against the young man’s hair, feeling a wave of tiredness washing over him.   
  
“Good night, boys,” Roger breathed and his eyes fluttered shut.   
“Duerme bien,” Rafa whispered tiredly.   
Sascha sighed softly.    


**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this while watching the Zverev / Dzumhur match and let me tell you, I'm fucking scared for Sascha. 
> 
> I hope you liked this fic and if so, a comment/Kudos would mean a lot!


End file.
